


A Light Touch Up

by LollyDragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Awkward Castiel, Awkward Sam, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollyDragon/pseuds/LollyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's car has broken down. It's cold, raining and he's incredibly tired. Not much left to do but walk and pray he finds someone who can help, really.<br/>He stumbles across a rusty old shop and meets two very kind and generous brothers, one of whom is far too attractive for his liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light Touch Up

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written for an anonymous person who asked for this AU on my Tumblr (Lollydrag0n - look me up, seriously I'm a pretty cool chick), so I hope you like it.  
> It may be a bit longer than you were expecting, but I just had such a great time writing it, please leave a comment (or don't, i'm cool. Everything's cool. We're all cool).

A LIGHT TOUCH UP:

 

It was dark, cold, wet, foggy and everywhere smelt faintly of mildew. Certainly not the best of places to have broken down in, but despite how hard Castiel glared at the steaming bonnet of his car, it didn’t seem to move an inch.

          He looked up and down the long stretch of road, blinking as the harsh rain fell from his drenched hair and into his eyes, causing them to sting and blur. Each direction seemed to go on forever and there wasn’t another car, person or house in sight.

 _Great_ \- he thought - _Just wonderful._

          He wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a desperate attempt to retain whatever body heat he still had and shivered as the wind picked up and brushed across his soaking wet clothes – tie flapping about, making wet smacking sounds as it slapped his jacket sleeves, white shirt so sopping it was practically not visible, even the overcoat he still thanked God he was wearing provided little protection.

          He kicked one of the front wheels before deciding his best bet was to start walking and pray to God, Jesus, Buddha – _whoever_ – that he would come across a hotel, or at the very least a barn or something he could crash in until the rain settled down, he didn’t like the idea of camping out in that cramped piece of rubbish he called a car. But it wouldn’t have been the first time events had led to him to sleep in a pile of hay; however that’s a story for a different time.

 

*

 

All hope seemed lost.

He even considered collapsing on the side of the road and letting the coyotes or the cannibal hillbillies (or whatever lurched in these deserted plains, to be honest he knew very little about America’s country side) drag him off and do what they wanted with him. By that point his feet ached so much and his brain was running on so little capacity that that genuinely sounded like the better option.

          It was just as the storm started to settle and the afternoon glow of winter sunlight began to descend behind the horizon that Castiel caught a glimpse of something that made him want to scream out _“hallelujah!”_ , but all he could manage was a silent, crooked smile.

\-        A silhouette of a small town.

_God, Jesus, Buddha – whichever one of you did this – thank you._

          The first house he came across looked old and rusty, but being on the brink of catching pneumonia or hypothermia, he wasn’t about to start being all ‘picky and choosy’.

          The door was locked.

          He knocked on the dirty glass doors and tried to peer inside. No one. Just a desk, a sofa and what looked like a ‘ _Rebel Without a_ Cause’ poster. He stood back and glanced up at the sign just below two second story windows.

 _‘Winchester and Sons’_ it read.

_Was it a shop? A hotel? Please be a hotel._

          There was a light in one of the windows, bright and reassuring.

          Castiel knocked one more time before he felt his knees buckle beneath him and his legs dropped to the muddy ground. His body was giving up on him. He was cold, tired, stressed, cold, cold, lost and did I already mention cold? – Because he was _extremely_ cold.

          His hand slid down the wet glass, his shoes sunk into the ground as if even the earth was trying to condemn him to the underworld, and he felt his eyes get heavier and heavier as his head leant forward to join his pale, clammy hand on the flat surface of the door.

          A bright golden light suddenly streamed past the small sliver of Castiel’s eyes that were still open. He blinked and looked up, not quite knowing what to expect. The door jerked inwards and his body fell with it.

          “Ah, crap,” said a voice, nervous and concerned.

          With what little strength he had left, Castiel pushed himself up until he was leaning on his forearms for support.

          “Wow, okay – okay, let me help you.” The man tucked two huge arms under Castiel’s shoulders and lifted him with basically no effort at all. Castiel wasn’t the strongest of blokes, he knew that, but _damn_ this guy had to be tough.

          Once he was placed on the sofa, the man leant back and Castiel was able to see him properly for the first time. However the cold may have contaminated his head just that little bit more that he had assumed, because his first thought was _“moose?”_

          Castiel shook his head and looked at him again.

          He was tall (and I stress the word _‘tall’_ ) with a strong build and dark chestnutty brown hair that flicked at the ends resting just above his shoulders. He was wearing a red and black shirt accompanied by a brown jacked. The guy seemed neat and smart and _tall_ (seriously this guy was _huge_ ).

          “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. “What happened out there?”

          Castiel blinked a few times and rubbed his head with his icy-cold fingers. “I- uhm…” he stuttered. “Uh, my – my car… and -” Before he could finish an already pretty bad sentence, a loud – and slightly pissed – voice echoed from a set of stairs beside him.

          “Sammy, what the hell’s going on?” the voice called. “I was in the middle of a dream with Jenifer Lawrence and John Barrowman. Now would you like to explain to them why I had to leave the org-” he paused as he saw Castiel. “Who’s this?” he said after a rather long silence.

          Castiel looked up at him. He didn’t know if it was because of the lack of sleep and rest or if it was just the stupid cold making him see things again, but as soon as he spotted him, he couldn’t help but smile.

          His body was perfect and his hair was messed up in the best possible way. It was like this was everything Castiel had ever dreamed a guy should look.

          He let his eyes wonder past the man’s torso, past the dips in his collarbone below a strangely titillating patch of stubble, past the slight bumps in his chest made noticeable under his green jumper from the way his waist was twisted to face him, and past the two prominent hipbones jutting out from above the band of his jeans (which Castiel was fairly certain were worn lower than ordinary – but hey – he wasn’t complaining).

          He quickly blinked hard and shook his head again, trying to dislodge the completely inappropriate thoughts currently streaming through his head. Weird though, he no longer felt cold. Well that wasn’t entirely true, yes he was still freezing, but somehow he felt a warmer better now. Very, very weird.

          “I didn’t actually get a name,” he heard the tall guy say. What was it the other man had called him? _Sammy?_ Seemed like a nick-name, if that was the case it was either Sam or Samuel, and he was willing to bet it was the one that didn’t sound like the name of some pompous, Gospel preacher.

          “Hi, I’m Sam,” he said, offering a hand for him to shake.

          Castiel smiled as he shook it, and took pleasure in his little name victory – although all modesty aside, he was very good at figuring things like that out, a real Sherlock Holmes… Only with less money and less friends.

          “I’m Castiel,” he replied.

          The corners of Sam’s mouth tilted upwards for a split second and he let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Castiel,” he repeated. “Nice name.”

 _That was a lie._ Everyone thought his name was stupid, even himself on some days.

           “You are extremely cold, how long were you out there?” he continued, letting go of his hand.

          He’d almost forgotten the entire reason why he was sitting on that blue suede couch (which he already committed to replacing with one that wasn’t soaking wet) with no car and no working phone. How was it that this place felt so strange and welcoming all at once?

          “I’m sure it was around five, perhaps five and a half, hours.”

          Sam’s eyes grew wider and he tilted his head forward a little. “Five and a half hours? Wow, I’m surprised you managed to walk that far in the storm.” He looked down at Castiel sympathetically before straightening his posture. “Look, I’ll go get you some blankets and a cup of coffee, and then we’ll figure all this out.”

          Castiel found himself smiling again, which was incredibly strange. He never smiled, that’s one of the reasons his family made fun of him. _Boring, no fun, daddy’s-boy Castiel._   Ugh, he hated his family.

          “I am really grateful for this,” he said as Sam strutted towards the stairs. “Not many people would be this kind; I want you to know I’ll clean up all the mess I’ve created. I don’t have much money on me at the moment – but if there’s anything I can do to-”

          “-It’s seriously okay,” Sam interrupted. “Right, Dean?” He gently nudged the other guy’s shoulder as he passed him on the stairs. He didn’t move, just looked up at him and gave him a short glare.

          “I’ll be down in a little bit,” Sam finished and disappeared beyond the bannisters.

 

*

 

Castiel fidgeted slightly as the other guy – Dean – slowly trotted down the stairs and towards him - and the closer he got, the more fidgety he became.

          “I’ll get Sam to make you a hot chocolate,” he said. “I don’t want to be mean – but his coffees taste like ass.”

          But Castiel barely heard him as he was somewhat occupied with other thoughts.

 _This is ridiculous._ He tried to convince himself. _Ridiculous, childish and inappropriate. Control your body, Novak._ He tried to sit as straight and still as possible, but all that seemed to achieve was a look of confused constipation, so he promptly stopped.

          “Hey, man, are you alright?” asked Dean who swung a nearby chair in front of him and sat on it backwards like some kind of _‘good cop’_ in a crime film.

          Castiel couldn’t reply at first, the space between them had gotten small enough for him to make out things that weren’t noticeable before. Like the glassy golden-green colour surrounding a dilated pupil - which complimented his jumper perfectly, he might add - or the countless number of freckles dotted around his nose and cheeks.

          _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

          His mind suddenly snapped back to reality with the sound of Dean clicking his fingers. “Hey, hey?” he said, still clicking. “Dude, seriously, you look like hell, you okay?”

          Castiel laughed slightly and looked down at the pale – almost purple – fingers resting on his lap. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied, tilting his head back up until his eyes caught Dean’s. “It’s been an exceedingly long night.”

          “‘ _Exceedingly’?_ ” Dean smirked and rested his arms of the top of the chair back.

          Castiel cocked his head a little and stared at him not really knowing what to say.

          “You sound like some kinda 18th century poet, or something.”

          He did grow up with a family of bible-heads, which certainly contributed to his vocabulary in a large way. You either spoke with manners and intelligence or you didn’t get to speak at all. And it wasn’t like he ever got to consort with members outside the church to really understand how _“normal”_ people appeared.

          “I’m… sorry..?” he said, not really knowing if it was a question or a statement – again, he didn’t really know how ordinary people acted or how to act like an ordinary person.

          “Don’t apologize, man,” Dean laughed.  “It’s cool that you speak like a fancy British prince. Sam says I should be more like that but I think the biggest word in my vocabulary is _‘pizza-ala-hotdog-crust’,_ so…”

          Castiel’s eyes squinted as he laughed and his gums peaked out from the top of his mouth. He hadn’t been able to smile like that in years. Not since his only sufferable cousins ditched him and left him alone with the rest of them. He was about to continue with the conversation, when a sharp cold chill shot down his spine like a bolt of electricity. He winced and looked over at the glass door which had slowly creaked back open as harsh wind picked up and piled its way into the room.

          Dean followed his eyes and immediately jumped off the chair when he noticed the door. “Ah, shit - sorry.” He closed it, flipped the latch and kicked the wooden section of the bottom half which seemed to bend inwards. “This place it a pile of crap,” he muttered before turning back to Castiel.  

          His eyes expanded as they caught the look on Castiel’s face – he was completely freezing to death. He was shivering all over, his hands had made their way back to hug his shoulders, his eyes were shut tight, nose all wrinkled and teeth in the middle of biting his bottom lip, not to mention how tight he had his legs pressed together or how embarrassed he suddenly felt as he remembered his situation and his see-through shirt.

          _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

          It wasn’t until he convinced himself to open his eyes again that he realized how close Dean had gotten. He was leaning forward; resting his hands on his legs to balance himself as he slowly moved his face closer and closer to Castiel’s - who would have been alarmed if it weren’t for the sweet, comforting smell of liquorish on the other man’s breath. Strange for someone who had just woken up, but Castiel didn’t want to think too hard on that.

          “Your nose is running,” Dean said flatly.

          Castiel was speechless for a second. He didn’t exactly know what he was expecting, but _‘runny nose’_ certainly wasn’t at the top of the list. “Oh.”  He brought a hand up to wipe at it.

          “You’re probably gonna get a cold.” As he spoke, Castiel swore he saw Dean’s eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth and then back again.

          Did that mean..? Probably not. The world wasn’t that kind.

          “Here, let me take your coat off – you keep that thing on and you’ll definitely turn into a stalactite.”

          It took a couple of long seconds to register what he said. But when he did -

          _No. no, no, no, no, no!_ He thought. _You_ cannot _let him touch you._

But it was already far too late by that time. Dean, still leaning forward and ass propped out behind him, already had his hands on the collar of his overcoat.

          _Good lord._

His touch was like nothing Castiel had ever experienced in his entire life. _“The greatest feeling in this world is your undying faith.”_ Fuck you Uriel, you lying dick – _this_ was the greatest feeling in the world.

          He let Dean slowly slide the coat down his shoulders and relished the soft warmth of the man’s hands against him – the only thing separating his touch from his own bare skin was a thin layer of invisible fabric.

          His mind went blank until he heard a distant cough – someone clearing their throat nonchalantly.

          Dean’s hands were instantly off him as he snapped upright and Castiel’s coat was left to awkwardly hang by his elbows.

          “Sam,” Dean said, taking a few small steps backwards.

          _What just happened?_ Castiel thought. The sudden lack of Dean’s hands on his shoulders made him feel ten times colder than he had ever felt that entire afternoon. At least it seemed that way.

          “I’ve, ah,” Sam slanted his head away from Dean’s to face Castiel. “Got those blankets,” he finished with a small smile, slowly stepping down the stairs with handfuls of folded sheets. “Coffee’s not done yet, though.”

          Castiel could feel how uncomfortable the air around him had become. You couldn’t really miss it, to be honest. What was that old saying? _‘The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife?’_ Yes, that certainly applied to this situation.

          Dean, however, was fine - completely casual and just standing there with his hands on his hips. Obviously he wasn’t experiencing quite the same feelings when he touched Castiel, as Castiel had felt when he’d touched him.

          “Hey, can you take this guy’s wet clothes off while I go make a _real_ hot beverage,” said Dean.

          Sam shook his head as he looked at him, smiling with an expression that still managed to look 100 per cent done. “Fine,” he said.

          “Awesome.” Dean swung his head around and grinned at their visitor. “Marshmallows?” he said.

          Castiel paused for a few moments, worried at how nervous and tense he was appearing when Dean seemed to be doing just fine – better than just fine – it was like this sort of thing happened constantly. A disappointed feeling sunk deep into the pit of his stomach, closely followed by guilt.

            _Here you are abusing these nice people’s generosity and all you can think about is how one of them would look naked._ He pulled the rest of the coat off his back and begun undoing the buttons on his shirt. He was a grown man after all, why shouldn’t he be able to take off his own clothes? It didn’t matter how numb his fingers were or how stiff his bones felt, he was going to do this himself, with no help from Sam _or_ Dean.

 _Don’t look at him._ He thought. _Don’t even_ think _about looking at him_. “No thank you,” he replied, perhaps a little edgy and rougher than he had meant to. Damn, he would have really liked some marshmallows as well… See this is what happens when you’re flustered and annoyed with yourself.  

          _Don’t look at him. Don’t you dare_.

          Well of course he looked at him. How could you _not_ look at Dean? His gaze quickly flicked towards the stairs and as they passed Dean for that split second he managed to catch the look on his face. And oh boy, something very dirty skipped into his head.

          Dean’s mouth was slightly parted and he was gripping the wooden railing firmly with one hand while a leg hung loosely behind him in mid-climb. He was running a finger across his bottom lip with his free hand and his eyes were preforming that same routine of going from staring at Castiel’s eyes, to his mouth and then back to his eyes again.

          Castiel was almost done undoing the last of his shirt buttons when he heard the familiar sound of Sam clearing his throat and he quickly looked away. Oh crap - did he look creepy for staring at Dean for that long?

          Yes. Yes he did.

          Once Dean left, Sam swung the chair around to its proper direction and handed Castiel the blankets while he took a seat. “I’m sorry,” he said.

          Castiel cocked his head to the side and stared at Sam with utter confusion. If anyone should be sorry it should be him. For being a creepy, perverted stranger who by all rights should have been kicked out of there the moment he looked at Dean with eyes that wanted to rip his clothes of.

          “My brother just really likes hot chocolate, any excuse to make one, you know?” Sam continued.

          “Brother?”

          “Yeah – he’s my older brother. Has been since… Well, since birth, I guess.”

          Castiel felt relieved. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he did.

          “Here,” said Sam, handing him a faded, grey _ACDC_ shirt and a pair of black pajama pants. “You’re probably gonna want a shower and get out of those clothes if you plan on not catching a cold.”

          _A shower… Here?_

          “That’s okay?” he asked, politely accepting the extended clothes. They were soft and warm and looked as though they had been through years of sunlight and washing machines.

          _I bet this is Dean’s_. Thought Castiel. He couldn’t be 100 per cent sure of that – he’d only met the guy a few minutes ago – bus still… he had this feeling. He smiled as he let the fabric rest lightly between the palms of his hands.

          Sam returned the smile and pushed the chair backwards as he stood up. “Of course,” he said. “Just because we’re country guys doesn’t mean we’re assholes.”

          Castiel looked up at him, genuinely touched. No one – at lease no one in his family – was ever this kind to him. “Thank you, Sam.”

          “No problem.”

 

*

 

Hot water was like Heaven on Earth. Castiel had almost forgotten how it felt to have his entire body above icicle temperature. Oh, it felt good.

          Hey, another thing that felt better than _“your undying faith.”_

          As he stepped out of the shower, steam filled the room and covered the bathroom mirror, fogging it up to the point where he couldn’t even recognize himself in it. He grabbed a towel hanging from a nearby rack and patted his face and chest. He wanted to stay a bit longer and thoroughly enjoy the feeling of hot steam brush against his skin, but was already worried he had overstayed his welcome by being in that shower for as long as he had.

          He quickly threw on the _ACDC_ shirt and pants Sam had lent him and headed downstairs.

          Dean was behind the desk, bending over to rest his elbows against the marble as he read a book that looked to Castiel like _Little Women_ , but decided best not to question. Sam, though, was nowhere in sight.

          “Hello,” said Castiel, feeling completely refreshed and ready to engage in an actual coherent conversation for the first time that afternoon.

          “Oh, hey,” Dean replied, snapping the book shut and casually tossing it to the side. “You feeling better?” he asked.

          “Much.” Castiel walked the few paces up to where Dean was standing and couldn’t help grin a little as he saw the opening in the man’s shirt neck which revealed pretty much his entire neck, chest and stomach. He stared at the smooth, tanned area of chest and down to the ending of stomach just below his bellybutton and just before his pants.

          _Why did he have to be this attractive?_

          “Nice shirt,” said Dean.

          Castiel looked down and touched the imprinted _AC(lightning bolt)DC_ lettering covering his torso, even though he knew exactly what Dean was talking about. “Yes, it is rather nice, isn’t it?” he replied.

          “You a fan?”

          “I’m not quite sure. My cousins never really let me listen to music, especially bands that hinged on being _‘sinful’_ or _‘blasphemies’_ \- which basically included any form of _‘rock and roll’_. ”

          “‘ _Blasphemies’?_ Wow, your cousins’ sound like real a-holes.”

          Castiel smiled and let out a quiet laugh as he heard Dean refer to Uriel and Raphael and everyone else as _“a-holes”_. A normal person probably would have been offended, but Castiel was just glad to have someone he could share things like this with.

          “I believe so too.”

          There was a short silence as the two of them stared at each other, smiling like a couple of losers. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually kind of pleasant.

          “Well, you and me gotta listen to an album sometime tomorrow,” said Dean, letting one of his hand flop to the bench and leaving the one remaining to keep his head balanced.

_Sometime tomorrow?_

          “Ah… Sorry?” said Castiel, wondering whether or not he’d misheard.

          Dean suddenly snapped his body straight and looked at the floor as if he’d accidentally said something offensive or incriminating. “I mean – _what?_ ” he grumbled. “– I have no idea why I said that – you’re leaving soon, right?”

          Castiel’s brow furrowed as he nodded and he suddenly had the urge to never leave that old, rusty room and just rip Dean’s clothes off in one swift movement. “As soon as I get my car fixed, yes,” he said instead.

 _A car?”_ Dean replied and his face literally lit up as he uttered the words.

          “Yes, my car broke down as I was driving to… well I don’t really know where – anywhere away from my family, really.” He shot a glance towards Dean but quickly looked away. The man’s parted lips and sappy eyes were making him feel very uncontrolled. “That is why I’m here actually. My phone had no reception, so I opted to walk until I found someone.”

          “Well, you found me,” Dean laughed.

          So did Castiel, but it was more a sort of nervous laugh than anything else. If Dean knew what he had thought when he first looked at him, the guy probably wouldn’t be acting so jokily.

          “But if its car troubles you’re having, then you’ve collapsed into the right place,” he continued. “I’m a mechanic. A pretty fucking good one too.” He gave Castiel a quick wink. “So, what’s wrong with your wheels?”

_That was fortunate._

          “I was driving for a while and it seemed fine, until at some point it decided to melt down and stop working. Steam was everywhere and the engine looked unreservedly destroyed.”

          “Okay, first of all – It’s not an _‘it’_ , it’s a _‘her’_ ,” said Dean. “Second of all – she sounds like she’s been messed with.”

          Castiel tilted his head slightly and frowned. “What?”

          “She was running completely fine until you got her on the road, right?”

          “Yes..?”

          “And the engine started to hiss and heat up once you got on the road?”

          “Yes, actually.”

          “Yeah, someone chucked mothballs in with your gas.”

          There was another lengthy silence as Castiel contemplated what to say next. _Mothballs with the gas?_ Was that even a thing? His eyes squinted and his head cocked further to the side. “I… I’m sorry, what?” he eventually said.

          “Mixing mothballs into gasoline gives the fuel higher octane levels, which on its own is a pretty good thing – but – add too much and the engine basically catches on fire and melts down.” He patted Castiel’s shoulder for the briefest of seconds before continuing. “The only question here is – who the hell did you piss off?”

          He meant it as a joke, but Castiel had _“pissed off”_ far too many people for it to be humorous.

          “Hannah,” he mumbled.

          “Who-now?”

          “Another cousin,” he explained. “A distant one. She in particular didn’t like the idea of me leaving. But the thought of remaining with that family terrified me, so I planned to take my father’s car and leave before they could figure out I had even left. But she must have noticed…”

          He brought his fingers up to rub the sides of his temples. No amount of hot showers could make him feel better about this.

_What on earth was she thinking?_

          “Man, you’ve got some pretty hard-core stuff going on in that family of yours.”

 _You can say that again. If only you heard all the things they talked about when Gabriel and Balthazar left, then you’d_ really _think they were psychotic._

          “She did realise that her little prank could have _killed_ you, right?”

_I’m sure she did._

          “I suppose it doesn’t matter now.” Castiel rested his hand on his head for a few moments before letting it drop back down by his side along with a soft, tired sigh.

          “Here,” said Dean, crouching down behind the bench. When he reemerged he held two plain cups of steaming hot chocolate. “I put them in the cupboard so they’d stay warm until you finished your shower.” He handed one to Castiel and went to take a large sip out of the other. “Nothing like some sweet, sweet cow juice and cocoa beans to forget all your troubles- _Ah, shit!”_ he snapped.

          Castiel placed his mug down and leant a hand on the side of Dean’s shoulder and stared at him like he was about to go into labor, or something equally as frightening. “Dean?” he said. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

          “Burnt my tongue!” he replied. “ _Every. Fucking. Time! Dimmit!_ ”

          Castiel sighed as he relaxed and took his hand away, regretting it slightly. He snickered as he watched Dean scrunch up his face and blow in and out quickly. It was adorable... Strange for someone with that amount of abs - but hey – two in one, right?

          “Look at you – laughing at my pain. Feeling better already, are we?” Dean smirked, fanning his mouth with a handful of scrunched up papers (which he thought were probably important for some reason, but couldn’t care less about at that moment).

          Castiel smiled and gazed down at the steamy cup of hot chocolate gripped between his hands and noticed three gooey marshmallows melting on the surface. He looked back up at Dean who said nothing and winked.

_This guy was good._

 

*

 

As the two of them sipped at their hot chocolates and chatted about nothing in particular – their conversations seemed to go from _machinery_ to _dinosaurs_ to _the meaning of life_ in a matter of sentences – the storm outside got less and less hostile and nighttime started to close in quickly. At some point they had moved back to the suede couch and creaky wooden chair and were sitting directly opposite each other – a position that gave Castiel the best view to stare at Dean’s emerald eyes and pale freckles.

          “Hey, hey, hey – cowboys are the future and I don’t care what anyone says,” Dean laughed, holding his hands up defensively.

          “Of course they are, Dean,” Castiel laughed back sarcastically. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned into this, but whatever the reason, he liked it. He’d never talked to someone for this long before and he found it fascinating how the two of them could simultaneously talk about everything and nothing all at once – it was wonderful.

          “There’s one thing I can say for certain,” Dean continued.

          Castiel nodded as if to say _“please continue, incredibly hot mechanic man.”_

          “You’d make a pretty hot cowboy.” He smirked and added a playful wink in there too for good measure.

          Castiel was at a loss for words. His mind broke down and he simply forgot how to sentence. “ _Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ …” he stuttered – somehow making the one syllable word sound like twenty.

          Dean placed one of his hands on Castiel’s knee – bordering on being thigh – and slowly leant forward.

          Castiel found himself doing the same while his chest pounded a trillion miles a minute. He closed his eyes and prepared for what he was sure would be the greatest experience in his life, when he was quickly interrupted.

          “Hey, so dinner’s ready,” said Sam, stampeding down the stairs like a huge cock-blocking rhino.

          Dean jerked upright and immediately took his hand away from Castiel’s leg.

          _Whyyy!?_

          “Ah, Sammy – the stew ready?” said Dean.

          Sam was silent for a couple of moments while he stared at Dean with a face that said _“dude.”_

          “Yeah,” he eventually replied. “It’s upstairs.”

          “Awesome.” Dean looked back over at Castiel who was awkwardly sitting on the couch with a face as hot as his sabotaged car engine. “You hungry?” he asked.

          Somehow he managed to ignore the deafening sound of his heart hammering against his chest, and answer. “I, ah… I mean, you – you want me to stay?” he said.

          “Hell yeah,” Dean replied, almost immediately.

          Sam just smiled down at them both awkwardly.

          “I just would have thought that you would want me out by now?” _Was that even an actual sentence?_ Castiel’s smile had faded while he looked from brother to brother. _How? How could people be like this?_ He’d spent all his life growing up in churches and living with people so religious you’d have a hard time saying the word _“damn”_ in front of without needing to wash your mouth out with soap - and they never came close to acting this kind.

          “Yeah, man, of course.” Dean smiled and offered a hand to help him up.

 

*

 

Dinner was surprisingly good. Not that Castiel thought Sam looked like he was a bad cook or anything, but because _‘stew’_ never really was his thing. To be honest, he never had much interest in food or drinks - he ate to function and he drank to hydrate, there wasn’t much else to it. But as he sat at that scratched, rickety tale, accompanied my two very generous and accepting men, he ate spoonfuls upon spoonfuls of chunky, meaty, sticky stew – he wondered how he’d gone through his entire life not knowing how delicious food could taste.

           “This… is very good,” he said, practically stuffing his mouth.

          “Damn straight,” replied Dean, giving Sam a light punch on his shoulder.

          As Sam glared at his brother briefly, Castiel watched Dean bring a spoonful of stew up to his mouth. He marveled in the way Dean ate – something about it was just so… he didn’t want to say ‘arousing’, but that’s certainly what it was. His jaw moved up and down as it worked on a piece of potato and Castiel’s eyes followed along as he swallowed, watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as the food ran down his throat.

          _Damn._

The only thing that stopped his eyes from remaining on Dean’s neck was the sound of his name being spoken by Dean’s deep, alluring voice.

          “So, _‘Castiel’_ , huh?” he said.

          A shiver ran through Castiel’s spine as he realised Dean hadn’t taken his eyes off him the whole time he was staring.

          “Uh – yes?” he answered, very pathetically I might add.

          “Kind of a weird name, isn’t it?”

          Sam nudged his brother’s shoulder and gave him worried – almost shocked – frown. “Dude,” he said.

          “What?” replied Dean. “I’m just starting a conversation. This is how you make friends, Sam.”

          Sam looked back at him with a level of bitch-face Castiel’s never seen before, and that’s saying something what with all the bitchy members of his family. “Insulting people?” he scoffed. “Sure, Dean.”

          Dean turned back to Castiel, who incidentally hadn’t stopped smiling from the moment the two of them started arguing. There was something in the way they talked and playfully mocked each other that made him feel very amused.

          “So, how’d you get it?” Dean continued - ignoring the face Sam was currently giving him. “Your name, I mean.”

          Castiel looked down at his steaming bowl of stew and smiled to himself, still lingering on images of Dean chewing and swallowing. “My parents were very religious, practically everyone in our family is, and so they gave me the name of an angel – or, named me after one at least.” He looked up and saw Dean staring deep into his eyes. Sam was just nodding his head faintly and concentrating on his own food as he ate.

          “The angel _Cassiel_ , right?” said Sam.

          “That’s right.”

          Dean nodded before going back to spooning brown, syrupy stew back into his mouth. “ _Angel names_ , huh?” he said. “Sounds pretty cool, maybe I should give that Bible a read sometime.”

          “If you can understand it,” Sam and Castiel quipped at practically the exact same moment.

_Oh, good lord, no._

          Sam gave him a broad smile and the thumbs up as he chuckled.

          Castiel, however, wasn’t as impressed with himself. He was – in fact - terrified. He hadn’t meant to say that, he really hadn’t, but it just came so naturally.

          _Why? Why on earth did you just say that? You practically called the man stupid, I hope you understand._

          He meekly looked over to Dean who was staring at him (much to Castiel’s surprise) with a grin much like Sam’s. He leant forward. “Bite me, angel,” he smirked.

          _Don’t tempt me._ Thought Castiel.

 

*

 

The rest of the meal was fairly uneventful (Castiel, thankfully, made no more cheeky comments towards his handsome host, despite how much he enjoyed the man’s reaction). The hands on the clock quickly approached midnight, and everyone was starting to get a little tired.

          “This has been an incredibly delightful day, especially given the circumstances,” said Castiel once his bowl was thoroughly wiped clean. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you two, then please let me know.”

          Dean leant back on his chair and undid the button on his jeans to make room for all the extra food, and folding his arms across his chest.

          Castiel cleared his throat while he tried not to stare at Dean’s crotch, which was proving to be easier said than done, especially now that he could see the beginnings of a pair of purple boxes peeking through the opening in his pants.

          “Don’t worry about it,” said Sam, coming around to take their bowls and dirty cutlery.

          “It’s all on the house,” added Dean with another discrete wink.

          Castiel looked down at his lap and rubbed the back of his neck with his fingers – he wasn’t used to flirtation, so he couldn’t be sure if Dean was doing it or not.

          Once Sam had left the room – probably on his way to the kitchen to clean up, which made Castiel very guilty – Dean got up and came to sit on the edge of the table beside him. “Hey,” he said, instantly getting Castiel’s full attention. “Where are you staying tonight?” he asked.

_…_

          In all honesty, he hadn’t thought that far.

          “I, ah… well – well the problem with that is -” before he had a chance to finish, Dean shut him up by seizing his chin and bringing his head up close to his own and planted a hard, passionate kiss on the side of his mouth.

          Before Castiel had time to register what had happened, he was already kissing back – letting himself be pulled up in a rough (and yet not entirely unwelcome) manner and was thrusting his hands out to trace along the inside of Dean’s thighs.

          Dean smirked as Castiel touched him and brought the hand still clutching Castiel’s chin around to the nape of his neck, using his fingers to caress and scratch up into his hair until he drew rushed, and desperate gasps from the blue-eyed stranger. “You’re staying here tonight,” he said in-between their sloppy kisses.

          “Y-yes,” he replied, almost like a student answering their teacher. He liked this very much.

          Dean quickly let go and Castiel came buckling back into his chair, utterly losing his ability to think, speak or even move.

          “So, who wants cake?” said Sam, barging back into the room holding three small plates of vanilla-looking sponge and ice cream, completely oblivious to what had just happened. 

          “None for me, Sammy,” replied Dean, acting as casual as always. “I just told Cas here he could stay the night. That okay?”

          Sam put the cake on the table and gave Dean another concerned, brotherly look. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, slightly hesitantly, and placed a plate in front of Castiel, who looked as if he’d just experienced the scariest rollercoaster of his life.

          His eyes quickly flicked up and saw Dean wink at him, which made his face somehow become ten times hotter than it already was. 

 

*

 

Castiel had tried to go to sleep, he really did. But how on earth was he supposed to after what happened at dinner? How was he supposed to do _anything_ after that?

          He went downstairs and paced the small area over and over again. His bare feet made no sound on the boarded floor but he was too distracted to realise if they had been anyway.

          _What did it mean?_ He thought. _Did Dean want him? Was he just joking? Was that something people did?_ If it was, that seemed pretty horrible.

          His mind repeated the same questions and replayed the same event over and over and over.

_Calm down, calm down, calm down._

          His head suddenly snapped towards the stairs as he heard the floorboards creak, and who do you suppose was standing there?

          No. It was not Sam.

          Dean. His hair was just as messy as it was when Castiel first saw him, if not messier, and one thing which caught his attention more was the fact that he wasn’t wearing any pants. His jeans were gone and so were the baggy pair of sweatpants he changed into when everyone was going to bed. Just a pair of purple boxes and a plain, black t-shirt remained.

          _For the third fucking time – fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

          “Hey, Cas, what are you doing out here?” he asked, slowly traversing down the steps.

          “Oh, nothing,” he replied quickly. He was a bit distracted to focus on the warm feeling he got in his chest whenever Dean called him _‘Cas’_. Instead he just stood there and watched Dean gradually close the gap between them.

          “Are you okay?”

          Castiel blinked and tilted his head, scrunching his eyes up like he often did when deep in thought. _Wasn’t he?_ This was what he wanted the whole night, wasn’t it? Then why was he acting so flustered. “I don’t know…” he replied.

          Dean gestured for Castiel to take a seat on the sofa, which he promptly did, and then sat opposite him again on the chair. “I’m sorry if I was a little… _forward?_ ” he said. “It’s just kinda the way I am. Plus you’re like, damn hot, so…”

          Castiel smiled and sat up so there was only a few inches preventing their faces from touching. There was no reason for him to be nervous or whatever it was he was feeling. Here was a man – an immaculately attractive man – who liked him as much as he did. Why was he not taking advantage of it?

          His fucking family, that’s why. They always ruined everything – they weren’t even here and here they were still ruining Castiel’s life.

          _It’s a “sin”, apparently._ He never understood why, attraction was attraction and you can’t help who you thought were – so _fuck_ them. _Fuck them and their unjustified, superficial, biblical bullshit._ If he wanted to bang a dude, he was going to bang a dude. _He was going to bang Dean, dammit._

          He leant forward and ran his tongue along the parting in Dean’s mouth and lightly bit down on his bottom lip.  Dean followed his lead and let Cas pin his against the back of the chair while he ran his fingers up and down the side of his torso.

          Dean gently pushed him off so he could stop for breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I didn’t know you had that in you,” he said. “You do realise how fucking hot you are, right?” he asked.

          Castiel leant forward again until their noses were touching. He tilted his head to the side. “I could put on a cowboy outfit and find out for certain,” he sneered, running a hand down and under Dean’s shirt to stroke and caress his firm, warm muscles.

          “Very funny,” replied Dean. “Let’s see if you can still make comments like that while you’re panting for breath.”

          Castiel very much liked the idea of where this was going.

 

*

 

 _They do know I can hear everything they’re saying?_ Thought Sam.

           He heard the faint yet distinct murmur of his brother’s voice. “Very funny - let’s see if you can still make comments like that while you’re panting for breath.”

          _No. No they don’t._

He covered his ears with as many pillows as he could find and tried to think of possible questions that would appear on his law exams – or anything to take his mind of the noise coming from downstairs. He had been afraid of this all night. Hey, at least Dean had found someone, but dude… _dude…_


End file.
